


Tell Me

by farevenasdecidedtouse



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Angst, Guilt, Hopeful Ending, Infidelity, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:55:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22699777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farevenasdecidedtouse/pseuds/farevenasdecidedtouse
Summary: Maia wants a variety of things, some conflicting with each other.
Relationships: Csethiro Ceredin/Maia Drazhar, Csevet Aisava/Maia Drazhar
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Tell Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phoenixflight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/gifts).



The sick pleasure of his wrongdoing insinuates itself into each nudge of his foot under the Tortoise Room desk, each greedy press of Csevet’s lips on the back of his hand or neck that draws him irresistibly away from diplomatic correspondence and trade tariffs, every stretch of his hole which makes Csevet murmur _tight as a virgin, so good, sweet gods, Serenity, tak’st my cock better than mine own hand._ Only in their stolen moments does he allow the pleasure to mingle with the guilt, to hasten and sharpen his own climax without a single touch of Csevet’s hand, remorse momentarily banished, then oozing back in a slow, grey ebb as he and his blank-faced nohecharei step through the Alcethmeret's grilles.

Csethiro smiles when she sees him, sees them both, unsuspecting. At the best of times he can lose himself in conversation with her, learning of the hundred thousand things of which a life deprived of anything outside Edonomee’s walls has kept him ignorant. They dance together, speak of court intrigue and provincial rivalries she knows far more of than he, walk through gardens now robed in the gold and scarlet of autumn, each word and each step feeling like a sop, a condescension to she who deserves the whole of him. _Dutiful,_ Arbelan had said. Dutiful enough to take up a mantle she had never wanted, to turn a blind eye to late nights in an empty bedchamber and marked skin and, perhaps, the specter of children not her own. Too dutiful to pursue revenge or simple solace in another.

_Grant thyself this single indulgence,_ Csevet tells Maia.

_I will not revile thee for aught,_ Csethiro says.

_How I loathe thee,_ he whispers to his own reflection.

Were the world merciful, she would come to him, wishing to surprise him, to see him and Csevet rutting like beasts beneath the gaze of those too loyal to say aught. Or he would cry Csevet’s name as she rode him in the imperial bed, her face twisting in betrayal and anger as she fled from his embrace.

He imagines himself and Csevet entwined in the bed he shares with his wife, knuckles pearly on the scrolled headboard with Csevet buried in him to the hilt, and spills over his stomach and chest with a shock of self-loathing ecstasy. The image repeats itself when she approaches him, avid and demanding and pressing her soft lips to his face in comfort for despair she does not see the source of. Comfort he deserves from no one.

It is only a moment afterward that he realizes the noise that has escaped from his lips. He curls in on himself, too afraid to meet her face.

_In sooth?_ he hears through blank white terror, the neutrality of her voice more terrible than any ferocious hiss.

_Forgive me. Please, I beg thee, forgive me._

The mattress dips beside him. A hand on his, hesitant but inexorable, curling around his trembling fingers.

_Tell me._


End file.
